


Just The Way You Are

by painintheassbutt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:49:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/painintheassbutt/pseuds/painintheassbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam goes out to find information on the Mark of Cain. He leaves Dean alone in the bunker with Castiel, too much alcohol, and a karaoke machine - not as funny as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just The Way You Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [museaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/gifts).



> I wrote this fic for the lovely and talented museaway. Her fiction makes me super happy, so I wanted to try to write a little 'thank you'. Please be warned, this fic has not been beta'd or edited in any way by anyone other than me and my very tired eyes.

**Just The Way You Are**

  
Timeline: Occurs after episode 10.6 “Ask Jeeves” for Sam and Dean, episode 10.7 “Girls Girls Girls” for Castiel.

Warning: mention of past dubiously-consensual sex, alcohol as a coping mechanism, angst, a wee bit of rough language. 

  
Dean and Sam barely spoke a handful of words to each other the entire way back from Connecticut to the bunker. They spent their time eating in silence at crappy diners off the highway, taking turns napping in the car while the other drove, or sitting in the tense atmosphere of things unspoken, listening to classic rock from the Impala’s stereo.

Sam was certain that his irritation with Dean would abate by the time they finally reached Kansas. With enough time and distance from their last disagreement, they would go back to the same old - just like they always did. But the more time that passed, Sam just felt his anger growing. And by the time the Impala rolled into the large garage of the bunker, he was positively steaming.

Dean flinched when his younger brother slammed the passenger door of the car and stormed out of the garage. He grimaced, his hand soothing over his baby’s hood as he followed Sam inside.

“What?” Dean asked gruffly, watching Sam open and forcefully close cupboard doors, grabbing a coffee mug and slamming it down on the counter before aggressively spooning coffee grounds into a filter. Dean took a deep, even breath, resting his hands on his hips and repeating himself. “What?”

Sam turned to him, his brow furrowed and his expression clearly saying ‘pissed’. He stared at Dean for a moment, tucking his hair behind his ears before turning back to the coffee maker without saying a word. Dean sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon Sam,” he entreated. “Clearly there is something on your mind. Tell me.”

“Why?” Sam demanded, turning back around. “You’re going to ask me what’s the matter, and then your going to dismiss what I say before I’m even done speaking.” he turned back to his drink, shoving his cup into the stream of coffee before pulling it back and replacing the pot. The spoon he was using to stir in the cream clanked loudly against the side of the mug and sloshed hot coffee onto the counter top. He swore under his breath, ripping a sheet of paper towel from the roll and mopping it up.

“Sam,” Dean spoke again, trying to put a bit of softness in his tone. “C’mon man. What’s got you so wound up?” he could hear his brother’s sharp intake of breath before he turned back around.

“This.” Sam stated, simply. He made a motion with his hand between him and Dean. “This. Us. All of this... this... crap. I’m just sick of it.”

Dean flinched at the way Sam spat the word ‘sick’, and the look on the younger Winchester’s face was one that Dean had never seen before.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked.

Sam ran a hand through his hair.

“You shot that girl, like, seven times.” Sam told him seriously. “She was dead, Dean. And here you are trying to play it off as ‘your first kill since you’ve been back’ and ‘wanting to see it done right’ - and that’s crap and we both know it.” he pointed at his brother. “And you and I both know how it goes from here. We ignore the problem. I keep my mouth shut to placate you. You pretend like things are normal. Until the next time. Until the next time things go sideways and we start this shit all over again.”

“Sam-” Dean attempted to speak, but Sam cut him off.

“No, you asked what was on my mind, well this is it!” he threw his arms up, his body thrumming with agitation and repressed anger. “I’ve had it. You are thirty-six-fucking-years old Dean. You think this is cute?” his eyes narrowed as he spoke. “You think this is fun for me to watch you do this? You think this is fun for me to keep playing this broken record over and over again because I don’t want to lose my brother?” Sam slammed his hands down on the kitchen table, leaning over toward the other man. Dean took a step back, even though they were still feet away from each other; Sam’s words were like a physical blow. Dean felt his heart clench at the way his brother’s voice nearly broke when he spoke. “You. Are all. I have.”

The brothers stared at each other a moment, and Sam’s eyes bore into Dean’s. The older was the first to look away. Sam sighed.

“But, you can tell me this is a chick flick moment and ask me if I want some tea and midol, which just equates to... to ‘shut-the-fuck-up, Sammy’...” he shook his head, his hair falling back into his face. “And I’ll cool off tomorrow and we’ll be back where we were... and I really don’t think I can live like that anymore... it hurts too much.”

The silence in the room became deafening. Dean’s jaw was clenched, and he was uncertain if he should be mad or afraid. The mark of Cain prickled on his skin, but the more ingrained instinct inside of him to be a big brother pressed forward.  
  
“Don’t... don’t talk like that Sammy,” he said, watching his brother stand at the counter, his head bowed as he continued to mindlessly stir his coffee. Dean gave a huff of exasperation, his shoulders dropping. “What do you want from me?”

“Want from you?” Sam asked as he turned. The look of disgust on his face caused Dean’s stomach to twist uncomfortably. “The same thing I always thought you wanted for me - for you to not be a self-destructive mess. To, I don’t know, get some modicum of happiness out of this crap shoot of a life we’ve had. Dean,” he crossed the room again, this time coming to stand in front of his brother, tilting his head down even though Dean was looking up at him. “Time and time again you’ve pulled my ass out of the fire, brought me back to life - did some pretty shitty things to accomplish that, too - and for what?” he brought his hands up as though his wanted to grab Dean’s shoulder’s, or possibly his throat. “So we can do it all over again? How much longer do we keep this up? Until we’re forty? Fifty? Until we die - for good?”

Dean frowned, placing a hand over Sam’s and lowering it.

“Sammy,” he began. “Look, I’m okay. I’m sorry if it...bothered you that I shot so many times. I’ll do some target practice in the range, get a few rounds out, and...” he could tell by the look on his brothers face that either his words were not sinking in, or they were not the words he wanted to hear. “What?”

Sam’s jaw was tense, his lips pressed together until they were white around the edges. When he opened his mouth, the words that issued forth were not what Dean was expecting to hear.

“Do you love me?”

Dean’s brow furrowed and he scoffed, shaking his head.

“Really, Sam?” he asked, running a hand over the back of his neck. Sam stared evenly back at him. Dean wanted to snap back ‘how could you even ask that?’ or ‘everything I’ve ever done in my life was for you’, but instead, he simply stated: “I ain’t got one thing in front of you... you know that.”

Sam’s entire body seemed to relax, and he took a deep, cleansing breath before he spoke again.

“Then we’re getting rid of the mark,” he continued quickly before Dean could interject. “I’m going to find Cain, see what we can do to get this out of our lives. I’m worried about you Dean. I...” he sighed heavily, almost defeated. “I don’t want to lose my brother.... again.”

Dean was frowning, but Sam didn’t know what to say to put him at ease. Hell, there was nothing to say. They had been through a lot of dubious crap together, but this was the final straw. Dean becoming a demon? Becoming a blood thirty monster? Sam would sooner die for good than to see that happen, not because he couldn’t live without Dean, not because he didn’t feel that they could find some normalcy outside of one another, but because he loved his brother. He loved the kid who raised him - especially knowing Dean was just a kid himself at the time. And he knew, even with all that they had suffered and lost, there was still hope. Still hope for Dean, still hope for himself. Sam was beginning to see a tiny bit of sunshine break though when they were in Flint, but the events of their most recent case... well, he was going to stop this now if it was the last thing he did.

“Don’t be angry,” Sam said quietly. Dean was still scowling, but it faded at his brother’s words.

“I’m not angry,” Dean said, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I just think you’re over-reacting just a bit.”

“Six extra bullets in a dead body is ‘over-reacting’,” Sam pointed out. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Whatever,” he replied. “I’m not even sure where we’ll start looking, but tomorrow morning we’ll head out-”  
  
“No,” Sam interrupted. “No, not ‘we’. Me.” he clarified. “When I find a solid lead, I’ll head out. You’re staying here. I can’t risk something triggering you. I want you to just relax.”

His brother smirked, his brow furrowing.

“And you think being holed up in an underground vault isn’t going to trigger me?” Dean asked dryly. “C’mon Sam, give me some credit. I’ve been relaxing for weeks.”

“No, you’ve been avoiding reality for weeks. Now, you need to relax. Hang out in the bunker. We love the bunker,” Sam reminded him, moving back to the coffee maker and pouring a cup for his brother. He handed it to Dean. “Please... just do this for me. You said our lives weren’t normal. But we can be ‘our’ normal again, and this isn’t it. And Dean....” he sighed. “I just want things to be normal between us again.”

Dean looked up at his brother’s face, his chest tight at the look of exhaustion he saw there. Sammy wanted normal - hell, Dean wanted that for him. But, wasn’t even normal too much for a Winchester to hope for?  
  
Dean could feel the coffee mug warm in his hands and he took a gulp without really tasting it. His mind was a scrambled mess of emotion, a whirling maelstrom of rage and shame. How was he supposed to sit back and let Sammy try to fix him? Fixing things was his job, had always been his job.

“It’s going to be boring as shit in here all by myself.” Dean grumbled, crossing to the coffee pot and pouring more into the cup to counteract Sam having been heavy handed with the cream. He took another large gulp, ignoring the burn against his tongue.

“I’ll get you things to keep you entertained,” Sam assured him. “Besides, I’m not leaving right way. I have a little bit of research to do. But we can do this, Dean. We can get through this. I have faith.”

Faith. The word made Dean frown, so he covered the expression with another drink of coffee. Sam was watching him intently.

“Fine,” Dean agreed, setting his cup down and lifting his hands in a sign of resignation. “Fine. Give it a shot. But whatever you find out to get rid of the mark - if there is even such a thing - we’ll do it together.” Sam was nodding eagerly.

“Absolutely.” he agreed.

Dean shook his head.

“Well, if we’re through with this ‘BM moment’,” he commented, pushing himself away from the counter. “This coffee has done it’s job and I need to have a little BM moment of my own.”

Sam knew the line was an excuse to get out of the kitchen, but he smiled as Dean walked away. The expression faded once he was alone. He let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face and back through his hair. He couldn’t believe he’d just yelled at Dean - and not only yelled, but told him what he’d wanted to tell him for years. He and Dean weren’t healthy, he’d known it for a long time. But he loved his brother too much to continue to watch him waste his life. He was tired of Dean dying for him.

He wanted Dean to live.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What the hell is all this?” Dean grumbled, watching his brother lug a large silver machine through the front door of the bunker. A small cardboard box was perched atop the mass of metal and wires he carried, and Dean pulled it down to help lighten the load. Inside the box were dozen of cds and Dean poked through them as he followed Sam into the area they used as a living room. Dean grinned, nodding his head in approval. “Zepplin, Tom Petty, AC/DC... not bad, Sammy.”

Sam gave a huff of laughter as he gently lay his burden on the floor.

“When I saw that, I knew it was kismet,” he turned the machine around so Dean could get a proper look. “Ta-da!” Sam exclaimed.

Dean’s brow furrowed as his eyes took in the dials and meters and the large LCD screen. He grimaced.

“Is that a karaoke machine?” he asked dryly. Sam was smiling widely as he nodded, looking down at the device.

“Yep,” he said proudly, dusting a hand over the top. “I was down at a local pawn shop looking for some supplies, and I saw this. Couldn’t get any more perfect huh?” he reached into the box Dean held, “I mean Ozzy, Boston... all your favorites.”  
  
Dean gave a grunt, pushing the box into his brothers hands.

“Real men don’t sing karaoke, okay?” he scoffed, shaking his head and turning away. “What the hell am I going to do with that?”

Sam sat the box aside, taking four long strides before he caught up to the older man.

“There is nothing wrong with karaoke,” he said. “You sing along to these songs in the car all the time! Besides,” he grinned, “maybe it will keep you from singing the high school musical version of our life.”

“Hey,” Dean snapped, turning to point up at him. “That song was catchy! There’s no shame in that.”

Sam laughed lightly, falling back into step behind his brother, following him into the kitchen. He watched Dean open the fridge and lean down to peer inside. He was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke.

“No, there was no shame in any that,” Sam agreed, crossing his arms and settling down on one of the bar stools. Dean took a beer from the fridge, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink. He pointed the bottle at his brother.

“Those kids were crazy,” he stated, giving a shake of his head. He had a faraway look in his eyes a moment before giving another shake of his head and taking another drink. He looked to Sam who was staring back at him with an odd expression on his face. Dean frowned. “What?” he asked. Sam smiled, shaking his head as he stood.  
  
“Nothing.” he said, standing. “Go set up your karaoke machine. Even if you don’t sing along, you can listen to the music.”

“What good is music with no words?” Dean grumbled to Sam’s retreating back.

“You know the words,” Sam called back over his shoulder. “Sing along.”

Dean frowned, leaning against the counter as his brother disappeared from view.

“Then that’s... karaoke...”

He signed, running his fingers through his dark-honey colored hair before dragging his hand down to rub his neck. He knew Sam had good intentions. His brother couldn’t possibly have known about how he spent many drunken nights while they were separated. God, he did a lot of stupid things in his life, but becoming temporary BFFs with Crowley... he’d never feel clean again. And now he was letting his little brother try and save him - take care of him like he was ailing. He felt like there wasn’t any further to fall. In a short period of time, he’d managed to do everything he’d ever lectured someone else not to do. He made deals with demons, tricked his brother into letting an angel into his body, and then lied about it without batting an eye. He felt like more of a failure now than ever.

Dean sat his beer aside, opening the cupboard and grabbing a tumbler before walking from the room. Sam was sitting on the couch reading a book, and Dean walked quietly past, his socked feet not making a sound as he moved through the bunker to his room. He pulled a bottle of scotch from the cabinet by his bed, pouring a couple inches of the amber liquid into his glass.

Yeah, Dean Winchester had hit rock bottom - which is quite a feat for someone who had been to Hell. If only he had just been left there...

Dean sighed, setting back on his bed and leaning against the headboard. It was hard to think of Hell without thinking of the one who raised him from it. And it was hard to think of Castiel without the seeping sting of shame for how he’d treated the angel when he was the one making deals with Crowley. It was no wonder Cas beat a hasty retreat the last time they met. He was probably tired of cleaning up Dean’s messes. But Cas was getting back to what was important to him, getting back to heaven and angels and... females waiting for him out in his pimp-mobile.

Dean downed the rest of the glass and filled it again. He wasn’t going to cry about Castiel ignoring him. He’d had nearly seven years to return at least a fraction of Cas’s attention, but he... to be honest, he took him for granted. Took for granted that Cas would always be there at his beck and call. To be there when Dean needed him. To be there when Dean was finally ready to admit...

Dean drained the rest of the glass and filled it one more time. He wasn’t even warm yet from the alcohol, but he wanted to drown the feeling that was burning in his gut. He rubbed absently at the mark on his arm, the skin stinging beneath his shirt. Maybe he should just go out in the living room and tell Sammy that this was ridiculous, that he was not going to set back and let Sam try and solve this on his own.

He pushed himself from the bed, walking back into the living room to where Sam still sat. Instead of reading, however, his brother was on the phone. The last bit of the conversation he was having stopped Dean in his tracks, and he listened to the younger Winchester speak.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Cas,” he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I really don’t want to leave him alone...”

Dean slowly backed away, returning to his room to crawl back into bed and further into his bottle of scotch.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam didn’t notice that Dean was missing until an hour before their normal dinner time. He checked the garage first, since Dean had been almost obsessively repairing and cleaning the Impala every spare chance he got, but the large bay was empty except for the cars. On his way back to the living quarters, he stopped to look into the showers which were also dark and deserted. Dean’s bedroom door was closed, which was unusual for the time of day, so Sam knocked softly.

“Dean?” he called, listening for any signs of life on the other side. When his question was met with silence, Sam gently eased open the door.

Dean was lying face down across the bed, his fingers curled loosely around the neck of an empty alcohol bottle as it hung precariously in his grip. He looked haggard, his mouth open and his face pressed against the sheets. The sight made Sam frown. He crossed to his brother’s bed, gently extracted the bottle from his hand and placing it in the trash can.

“Dean,” Sam spoke, slightly louder than a normal tone. “Dean?” He received a groan in response. “Didn’t you want to eat something?” Sam continued. “You know - actual food?”

Dean didn’t respond, continuing to breathe at a deep and even pace. Sam sighed.

Being careful not to wake him, Sam worked Dean’s arms out of his flannel overshirt and rolled him over onto his back. The older hunter gave a grunt of annoyance, but only sniffed and closed his eyes tighter. Sam divested his brother of jeans and socks before grabbing a spare blanket from the closet and covering Dean with it. He dropped the laundry in the hamper on the way to the door, stopping in the threshold with his hand poised above the light switch as he watched his brother sleep. Sam felt pain for Dean and the things he denied himself in the name of living a hunter’s life. If Sam had the ability to change their past, he would in a heartbeat. For Dean, if not for anyone or anything else.

“Cas is on his way home,” Sam spoke to his brother’s unconscious form. “He should be here in a couple days...” Dean didn’t move, so Sam snapped off the light and pulled the door closed behind him.

It was a few minutes coming, but Dean stirred in the darkness, rolling onto his side and pulling the spare pillow to his chest, a single word slipping from his slips.

“Cas...”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam didn’t mention Dean’s early evening “nightcap” when his older brother staggered into the kitchen the next morning. He simply poured Dean a cup of coffee and had the decency not to offer food. They successfully navigated the entire day without mentioning it either. Sam casually mentioned Cas’s visit again over lunch, but Dean only nodded in mild interest. Sam was surprised that Dean didn’t ask why Castiel was coming to see them, and he spent so much time analyzing the reasons that it would have been awkward to bring it up again with all the time that lapsed - besides, Dean was preoccupied with needing to visit the store.

Alcohol was apparently the main reason for a shopping expedition to town, and Dean and Sam bickered as quietly as possible over exactly how many bottles were appropriate or inappropriate. In the end, Sam deferred to his brother in the liquor department, so he insisted on plenty of fresh fruit, vegetables, and grains in their cart before they went to the checkout.

“Why the hell do we need so much food?” Dean grouched as they loaded their bags into the Impala’s trunk.

“You have to have more than whiskey, beef jerky, and cheetos,” Sam explained with a laugh. Dean gave snort of disagreement.

“Why?” he asked. Sam gave his brother an look of exasperation.

“Really Dean?” he said. Dean grinned and shrugged. Sam shook his head, sliding into the passenger seat. “Aside from the fact that I’d rather not be constipated for days on end,” the comment earned another bark of laughter from his brother. “I’m not sure if Cas needs to eat. If he does, it should probably be healthier than, well, cheetos and beef jerky.”

Dean glanced over to his brother, his brow creasing slightly.

“Cas looked fine the last time we saw him,” he pointed out. “Looked all mojo’d up. If he’s full-on angel again, he won’t care what we feed him.”

Sam expression was a cross between incredulity and concern as he looked over at his brother. Dean glanced at him, but turned back to the road without further comment. Sam sighed.

“Dean,” he began wearily, but the attempt at conversation was cut off when Dean blasted the radio and began singing along with the song, dramatically gesturing to the beat. Sam could only shake his head.

Dean started drinking beer almost the moment they got home, but Sam restrained himself from comment as long as he could. When the empty bottles were beginning to stack up, Sam didn’t think his nerves could take much more.

“Oh my god, Dean, really?” Sam spoke, his eyes leaving the page of his book and he turned to where his brother sat on the floor. Dean merely smiled, raising a half empty bottle in a sort of salute, as he continued his tipsy crooning in the background. Sam was beginning to wonder if buying the karaoke machine was a bad idea or a really bad idea. He could tell by the near shouting quality of Dean’s singing that it was mostly for his benefit, but he took a measured breath and focused instead on the page in front of him. When Dean began to loudly sing the lyrics of Billy Joel’s “My Life” in Sam’s direction, Sam groaned and shut his book. “Do you really need to do this now?”

“You got it for me, Sammy,” Dean laughed, before he continued the next verse, laying back on the floor and shouting to the rafters. Sam gave an exasperated huff, but he couldn’t frown when he looked at the smile on Dean’s face. At least he appeared to be enjoying himself. Besides, the longer Dean drank and the longer he sang, he seemed to forget to put on the overly exaggerated bad pitch, and actually sounded really good.

Before his brother could get too drunk, Sam made dinner and the brothers sat quietly at the table to eat. There were a ton of things Sam wanted to ask Dean, a dozen conversations that he wanted to have, but he wasn’t actually sure where to begin. He chose the lesser of all evils, and started with his planned hunt.

“So,” Sam began, leaning his elbows on the table. “I was going to tell you last night that I got a lead on Cain.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, squinting across the table at his brother. Sam continued.

“I’ve been networking with some hunters up north-”

“Networking?” Dean broke in to scoff before turning his attention back to twirling spaghetti on to his fork. Sam continued as if he hadn’t spoke at all.

“And some of the information indicates that Cain has set down somewhere north of Kalispell. I thought I’d take a drive out there, see what I can find out....”

Dean licked the sauce from his lips and grimaced as he swallowed.

“Kalispell?” he asked. “Where the hell is that?”

“Montana,” Sam replied, hoping he sounded nonchalant. “It will be a couple days drive back and forth, but it’s a good lead, Dean. I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

Dean didn’t look like it was a good lead, or a good anything for that matter. He shook his head.

“You think I’m gonna let you take my baby over the river and through the woods all by yourself?” Dean asked with a frown. “Not gonna happen, but I’ll tell you what-”

“I don’t need the Impala,” Sam cut in before Dean could finish. The younger Winchester stood, collecting his dishes and talking them to the sink. Dean stared at him a moment, his brain working out what he had just said.

“What? You think you’re going to take one of those classics in the garage?” Dean asked, amused. “We don’t even know if they’re road ready to drive to the local Gas-n-Sip, let alone roll hundreds of miles across country.”

“Well, I’m not,” Sam told him, rinsing his plate and cutlery before placing them in the dishwasher. “Castiel said I could borrow his car.”

Dean almost spat out his mouthful of beer, and he drew the back of his hand across his lips. He gave Sam a look of incredulous surprise.

“Cas’s car?” he asked, and his tone held the same emotion as his face. “The pimp wagon? You’re going to trust that on a cross country drive?”

Sam gave an amused smirk, returning to his seat.

“Cas has been driving it cross country for months,” he pointed out. “I think it should be fine. Sure it doesn’t get the best gas mileage, but it’s comfortable and reliable and it has already been updated with an mp3 jack.” he finished with a smile. “I’ll be good to go. Besides, it has tons of legroom.”

Dean snorted, shifting in his seat as he thought of something to say that would enlighten his little brother on why this was one of the most ridiculous ideas that he’d ever heard.

“Well,” he grumbled, scratching the side of his stubbly jaw. “I’m not sure Cas is the best person to road trip with. He seems the ‘eye spy’ type...”

Sam gave a huff of laughter, but didn’t dispute the comment.

“Cas isn’t going with me Dean,” he said as he rose from his chair, beckoned by the three thudding knocks on the bunker door. “He’s going to stay here and keep you company.”

Sam was gone before Dean could protest. The elder Winchester sat dumbstruck, his brain sluggishly making calculations from years of experience on the road. Anywhere in Montana was roughly ten-plus hours away, and if it was Cain, he was certainly a few more hours off the grid than that. Make it a generous estimate of twenty hours both way, with a couple days in between to investigate the lead, that would leave Dean locked up with Cas for, possibly, six days. He wasn’t sure he was ready for... that much interaction. Not when he was still finding himself humming ‘I’ll just wait here then’ at random times of the day.

Dean sat up straighter and wiped his mouth and chin on a napkin when he heard Sam returning. A second set of footfalls could be heard with Sam’s long, heavy gait. Dean took a deep breath, resting his elbows on the table as he looked toward the doorway. Sam was smiling, and he gave a jerk of his thumb to indicate the person behind him before stepping aside and letting Castiel into the kitchen. Dean shifted, giving a nod of his head to the new arrival. Castiel smiled.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean’s jaw went tense, and a tight smile pulled at his lips. He noticed Sam was watching him, so he cleared his throat lightly and spoke.

“How’s things, Cas?” Dean said, his voice slightly deeper than he was expecting. He cleared his throat again, taking a sip of beer to replace the moisture that seemed to have disappeared from his mouth. Castiel shrugged slightly, giving a tilt of his head.

“Things are... fine,” the angel answered. “How are you, Dean?”

Dean mirrored the angel by shrugging, and he pulled his right arm from the table, letting his sleeve fall to conceal the mark burned into his skin.

“I’m alright,” he replied, trying to think of something casual and neutral to add. His mouth settled on a topic that his brain hadn’t completely vetted. “Any females waiting for you?” He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.

Sam’s brows raised and his eyes slid from Dean to Cas. Castiel opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

“No,” he replied, his hands seeking refuge in the pockets of his coat. “I’m alone. My sister, Hannah, recently chose to return to heaven... to give her vessel back to her family.”

Sam gave a small start of shock, and he noticed that Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.

“She just... gave up?” Dean asked. Castiel sighed, a solemn look on his face.

“I don’t consider it giving up,” he told the brothers. “It was a difficult and selfless decision. It’s made me rethink... Well, it’s made me rethink some of the decisions I’ve made.”

Dean’s brow furrowed and his cheek twitched at the response. He didn’t like the sound of that but didn’t comment. Sam was already speaking again.

“Well, you got here pretty quickly.” Sam said, “You want something to eat?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” Castiel replied, pulling his hands together so the overcoat wrapped around him, as if he were cold. “I’m not hungry. I drove straight through so you wouldn’t have to delay your departure.” the angel settled on one of the bar stools across the table from Dean. “But the gas tank is full and I added a quart of oil and some coolant just about thirty miles back, so the car is ready.”

Dean smirked.

“Since when do you know about maintaining cars?” he asked. Castiel turned to him, his expression neutral.

“I’ve had to learn,” he explained, looking from Dean to Sam. “Mechanical vehicles are really not so different from human vehicles. They need maintenance and fuel if they are to run properly.”

Dean’s mouth turned back into a frown and he looked down at his plate to poke at the remaining spaghetti. He didn’t want to think about Cas being human, or Cas having to learn basic skills through trial and error all on his own. Dean didn’t need reminding to add ‘shitty friend’ to ‘shitty brother’.

“I’m going to go shower,” Dean mumbled, pushing away from the table. He grabbed the half empty bottle of beer before striding from the room. There was a knot of emotion sitting right at the top of his stomach and he pressed a fist against it to alleviate a bit of the pain. He wished he didn’t feel so helpless, letting Sam and Cas take care of the mess that he had gotten himself in to. Especially when it seemed like every mess they had gotten in to was Dean’s fault to begin with.

Dean leaned against the cold stone wall outside of the kitchen. He wasn’t proud, but he was curious about what the other two men would say about him when he was gone. Morbid curiosity coupled with self loathing wanted to hear just how badly he’d disappointed the two most important people in his life.

The scrape of wooden chair legs against stone tile preceded Sam’s voice as the younger hunter settled onto a chair next to Castiel.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Sam,”

The angel’s voice sounded tired and haggard, and only increased the uneasy sensation in Dean’s gut. Dean leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he listened.

“You sure?” Sam asked. Of course Sam would pick up on Castiel’s feelings and ask about them. Sam was a good guy. “This has to be hard on you.”

Castiel made a soft sound, as if exhaling a small huff of laughter through his nose.

“I’m not concerned about that right now. I’ll manage. I’m worried about Dean...” there was a short silence before he spoke again. “You don’t really think he would submit to the lure of the Mark, do you?”

Dean opened his eyes, turning his head even though he couldn’t see where the two were sitting from his position outside the room, but he could imagine the look on his little brother’s face.

“I’d love to believe that Dean wouldn’t... wouldn’t do something he’d regret,” Sam replied, his voice low. “But, after all he’s been through so far... I’m worried about him, Cas. I’m worried that he’s just so tired. I mean, we’re all tired.” There was a strained pause before Sam asked. “Aren’t you?”

Dean held his breath, waiting for the response.

“I don’t think of it that way,” Castiel admitted. “I’ll never tire of wanting to help, of trying to put things right. I guess, if anything, I’m tired of making things wrong.”

“Cas,” Sam spoke gently, “Don’t say that. We’ve all made some wrong choices. All of us.”

“Mine seem comparatively more wrong,” the angel replied, with slight laughter in his tone. “When I think back on the things that I’ve done, the choices I’ve made...” all levity was gone now from his voice. “I can’t see how you and your brother can still call me a friend.”

“We do,” Sam insisted, and there was a scraping sound that indicated he may have pulled his chair closer to Castiel’s. “We both do. I mean, you are always there when we need you. Always willing to put yourself on the line for us. Just like now. You didn’t hesitate to drive all day to get here so I could make a trip in peace knowing that Dean would have someone with him. You drove straight through to us.”

There was a small moment of silence and Dean leaned toward the open doorway. Castiel spoke again.

“I can’t imagine Dean feels the same way,” he said, sadly. Dean scowled, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt over his belly. Castiel continued. “You’ve been so kind to me Sam, even though I don’t deserve it. Especially after what I did to you.” Sam attempted to interrupt, but the angel stopped him. “There isn’t enough penance for that. And I think that is when I lost your brothers good graces forever. That was the final break in our... well, what I thought was friendship.” Dean felt heat building in his eyes, and he swallowed hard in an attempt to push down the swelling feeling of grief rising in his chest. Every word Castiel spoke splintered his heart. “But the things I did were just chipping away at it from the start. Asking him to torture Alastair for information, making deals with Crowley,.. listening to Metatron,” Castiel’s next laugh was soft and slightly bitter, and there was a rustle of fabric as the angel shifted his position. Dean felt bile rising in his throat. Could Cas really feel that way?

“Cas,” Sam spoke. “You’re the best friend Dean has ever had.”

“And isn’t that sad?” the angel asked. “I want so much more for him, and you should too.”

There was an unusual tension to the pause that followed that statement before Sam replied.

“I do.” he said. “Want more for Dean, I mean. Not a better friend. Because you are a great friend, Cas. Dean... needs you.”

Dean closed his eyes again, swallowing the lump that was blocking his throat. Castiel took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before he spoke.

“I will never regret being the one to raise him from hell,” he said, calmly. “I will never second guess that. I will never regret what little I may have been able to do to aid you and your brother. But everything else... I wonder what more I could have done for Dean - done for you - if I would have made better choices. What if I had tried harder? Chosen different allies - outside of you two, of course. What if I had more faith? What if I had chosen to give Jimmy back to his family? Or..” his voice lowered, and Dean could barely hear the next six words. “... just chosen a different vessel altogether...”

Dean’s body sagged against the hard stone at his back and he pressed his lips together. How could Cas not know how much he meant to him? How could Cas think that all those things in the past weren’t already forgiven long ago? How could Cas think that he should be anything other than what he was - because he was everything.

Maybe because he never told him.  
  
Dean didn’t have much longer to consider those questions, as Castiel was speaking again and his voice sounded more up-beat.

“But, there is nothing to be gained by looking backward,” he told Sam. “I’m looking forward. We’re going to find a cure for the mark. We’re going to help Dean. And I will make sure that he is fed so you can make your trip with peace of mind.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said. “I know I can count on you.”

There was a long moment of silence that followed. Dean slowly pushed himself away from the wall and turned to walk back to his room when Sam’s voice stalled him.

“Cas,” he began hesitantly. “Can I... can I ask you something?” he followed the question quickly with: “You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“You can ask me anything, Sam.” Castiel told him, assuredly.

Sam coughed lightly, and a slight scraping sound indicated he moved his chair either closer to or further from the other man.

“How exactly... do you feel about my brother?”

Dean felt his heart stop beating and the breath caught in his lungs. He strained his ears against the silence in the kitchen that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Castiel cleared his throat.

“To be honest, Sam,” Castiel began slowly. “I -”

The angel paused when the metallic chiming of a cell phone rang, and Sam swore softly. Dean took that moment to move swiftly toward his room, putting as much distance as he could between the question and the answer he didn’t hear. He suddenly felt sickly drunk and sober all at the same time. How the hell could Sam ask Castiel that?! And who the fuck was calling Sam this late at night?!

Dean gathered his clothes and went into the bathroom to shower and contemplate everything he had just heard, and more importantly, the one thing he didn’t. The hot spray was almost painful against his skin, but Dean ignored the sensation. Cas regretted their life together. Well, not their life together, but... still...

It would be a lie if he said he hadn’t been angry with Cas after some of the things that he had done, but those things were in the past. Cas hadn’t done anything he couldn’t be forgiven for, why the damned angel didn’t know that...

Dean leaned his forehead against the cold tile, trying to concentrate on the smooth porcelain against his skin and not the hollow, painful ache in his chest. Of course Cas didn’t know he was Dean’s best friend. Of course Cas didn’t know how much Dean needed him. Of course Cas didn’t know how much he meant, because Dean Winchester didn’t do feelings. Apparently the only one he was good at was regret.

Dean stayed in the shower the entire time it took the water to transition from scalding to cold, and he stepped out with reluctance, wrapping a towel around his waist. He trudged across the room, dropping onto the side of the bed and rubbing his fingers over his sore eyes. Part of him told himself that he should rationally think about the chaos that was the current state of his mind. Another part of him told himself not to ignore the fact that his heart also had a significant stake in this as well.

Instead, Dean listened to the part that needed a drink. He reached down into the bedside table and removed one of the newly purchased bottles of whiskey, twisting off the lid and downing a large gulp. He needed not to think any more tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean woke the next morning with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. The room was dark, but it didn’t give Dean any indication of the time as windows were scarce in this portion of the bunker. He threw off the blanket, kicking to get the fabric from entwined around his legs as he sat. When he turned on the lamp, he blinked his eyes against the sudden brightness of the light, and his head throbbed twice as badly.

He sat on the side of the bed for a moment, looking around the room. The whiskey bottle, that he had only remembered getting half of the way through, was closed and setting on the desk. Dean turned his eyes back to the blanket now crumpled at the foot of his bed. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed when he started drinking, but the towel he had wrapped around him now appeared to be in the hamper. He checked his phone; it was half past seven.

With a groan, Dean pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and brush his teeth. He was too tired to feel ashamed over Sammy putting him properly to bed once again, and he returned to the bedroom to pull on a pair of jeans and T-shirt before heading out into the hall. Dean immediately regretted stepping out into the hall in his bare feet, but he trudged across the cold cement floor of the the bunker to the kitchen. He hesitated in the doorway, rolling his eyes and sighing softly as both Sam and Cas looked up at him from where they sat around the table. Everyone was quiet for a fraction of a minute.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel greeted, watching Dean pass to the counter to pour himself some coffee. “... I hope you slept well,”

Dean took a gulp of the scalding brew before hissing at the burn.

“Like a stone,” he replied. “You?”

Sam gave his brother a disgruntled look, but didn’t comment as Dean sat across from him, his hands cupped around the steaming mug. Castiel gave an uncertain look to Sam before turning back to Dean.

“I didn’t have a need to sleep last night,” he said. “So I read a book on the effects of astrological events on supernatural phenomena.”

Dean grimaced, raising an eyebrow.

“And that didn’t knock you right out?”

“We made pancakes,” Sam interrupted, and Cas closed his mouth instead of trying to reply. Sam rose from his chair, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and serving his brother three large pancakes from the stack. “You want fruit?”

Dean’s smirked at his brother, but didn’t comment before he slathered his breakfast with butter and syrup. Sam sighed.

“Anyway,” he said, picking up the empty plates from the table. “I guess I should hit the road.”

Castiel rose from his seat, helping Sam clear the table and load the dishes into the washer. Sam filled a tall glass with water, taking a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet and setting them in front of Dean. Dean sighed, taking the bottle and looking up at Sam.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

When the kitchen was cleaned up, Dean followed along behind Sam and Cas as they made their way out to the Lincoln. Dean watched quietly as Castiel opened the trunk, pulling out a worn, green duffel bag and Sam replaced it with his own bag of clothes and supplies. The angel let the trunk fall closed and he handed the keys to Sam.

“I’ll call once I hit my mid point, and I’ll call again when I stop for the night,” Sam said, turning to Dean. “If you all need anything, you call me. Don’t hesitate.”

“We’ll be fine Sam,” Castiel assured him.

Sam nodded, turning to his brother and giving him a weak smile. Dean sighed, holding out his arms and letting the taller man embrace him.

“Drive safely,” Dean said, gruffly. “You never know when the wheels are gonna fall off that thing.”

Sam chuckled, giving Dean a tight squeeze before pulling away.

“I will. Take care Dean. Cas.”

He turned from the bunker, getting in to the Lincoln and adjusting the seat and review mirror. Dean was watching him with a slightly pained expression, and Castiel was watching Dean. Sam swallowed, turning the keys in the ignition and putting the car into drive. He was determined to find a way to make things right for Dean. After all Dean had done for him growing up, it was time someone looked out for his brother. And as weird as it was to go out on a hunt without him, he knew he was leaving Dean in good hands.

Once the large, gaudy car was out of sight, Dean sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping and he turned back to the bunker. Castiel followed quietly, trailing Dean down the spiral staircase. Dean looked back at the angel, grimaced and looked away.

“Well, I gotta,” he began, “... I’m gonna... I’ll be in the garage.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean kept a low profile for most of the morning, lurking in the bunker’s garage and meticulously detailing the Impala’s interior. He blasted the radio, focusing on the repetitive acts of scrubbing the leather, brushing the dust from every crevice, listening to the beat of the bass as it thrummed against the speakers - anything to take his mind off of the angel wondering around inside his home. It worked for several hours, but as the time closed in on one p.m., Dean was suddenly aware of his lack of solitude. He looked up and saw Castiel standing awkwardly in the doorway, as if he was debating with himself on whether or not to disturb the hunter.

Dean sighed, clicking off the radio and sliding out of the car.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning on the door of the car. Castiel took a half step into the room, but stopped before moving further.

“I made... lunch,”

Dean stared at him a moment, his brain blank for a response. He opened his mouth to decline, but his stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of a meal. He sighed.

“Yeah, okay.”

Dean followed Castiel to the kitchen and sat across from him at the table, watching the angel spreading jelly on a slice of plain white bread. Dean glanced down to the sandwich that was sat before him, the whole wheat bread stacked high with sliced turkey, tomato, lettuce, and cheese. He placed his elbows on the table, leaning toward Castiel. He cleared his throat.

“Cas,” he began, earning the angel’s attention. Dean gestured toward his sandwich. “You notice anything unusual here?” he asked.

Castiel looked from Dean to the sandwich on the plate. He was quiet a moment before his face showed understanding. He rose from his chair, crossing to the cutlery drawer and returning with a large, serrated knife. With great care, he cut the sandwich diagonally down the middle. He smiled at Dean.

“There,” he said, a small touch of pride in his tone. Dean exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah, that was the problem,” he said, picking up half as Cas returned to his seat. Dean took a bite, chewing thoughtfully as he continued to watch Cas spread peanut butter on his second slice of bread before he pressed the two halves together. Dean swallowed, leaning back onto the table. “Why you eating that?” he asked.

Castiel shrugged, licking a smear of peanut butter from his thumb before he replied.

“Food... doesn’t have the same sensation on the palette as it did when I was human,” he began to explain. “I can never be certain when my sense of taste will return, and it’s pointless to waste good food when I can’t be sure I would enjoy it.”  
  
“But I thought you got your mojo back - or, some mojo back. You shouldn’t need to be bothered with this human stuff, right?”

Cas gave him a weak smile, slowly ripping the sandwich into two as he replied.

“I did get some grace back, yes,” he began. “But, it’s not my grace. It knows it doesn’t belong.” he shook his head, staring down at his food. “So, I can’t sustain it. My own, natural grace renews and replenishes itself. This grace... stolen grace... it burns out.”

Dean chewed slowly, a tight feeling in his chest as he watched his friend. Castiel tore a small piece from the sandwich, placing it in his mouth and chewing experimentally. He sighed, shoulders slumping as he lay the pb&j down on his plate. Dean swallowed, wiping his mouth on a napkin before he spoke.

“You know we’re gonna fix that, right?”

The comment caused Castiel to look up at him, and his blue eyes seemed confused a moment before his expression softened and he nodded.  
  
“Of course,” he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “I have plenty of grace left for now.”

Dean’s brows drew together as he considered Cas’s words. The angel was damn crazy if he thought Dean was going to let him burn his grace up trying to save him, instead of trying to save himself. Why on earth wasn’t Cas out there trying to track down his grace? Trying to put his own mess right?

Dean looked across the table at the other man and he felt a uncontrollable warmth spread through his chest. He had often wondered what made Cas so dedicated to helping him. So willing to put his own troubles aside, to sacrifice everything for one lousy human. But he never had the nerve to ask the question Sam did last night. To ask Cas just what, exactly, his feelings were. He wondered if Sam ever got the answer. If they had continued talking after Sam had his phone call and Dean raced to his room like a coward. Like he was afraid to find out what Cas thought.

Was he afraid?

Certainly Cas cared about Dean like a friend. A really great friend. He didn’t care about Dean... in any other way. They were like... brothers. Just like Sam. Yeah...

Dean’s eyes traveled over the angel’s torso, pausing where the undone top button on his shirt exposed just a hint of lightly tanned skin. Dean swallowed, his throat contracting as his eyes moved further up, pausing on soft, slightly parted lips before rising to rest on brilliant, blue eyes. He swallowed again, his mouth suddenly feeling as though he had a wad of cotton where his tongue should be. He grabbed for his beer and hastily took a sip, pulling his gaze away from the man across from him.

“Is your food acceptable?” Castiel asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, taking a large bite to avoid having to speak. “S’great.”

The rest of the meal was completed in silence, Dean keeping his eyes resolutely on his meal.

This was going to be a long week.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean wanted to avoid Cas, but he felt guilty whenever he tried to duck into another room. He only needed to see that crestfallen, resigned acceptance on his friend’s face once to decide not to spend long hours outside of his company.

Sammy checked in two days after his departure to announce his arrival in Montana, and Dean tried not to roll his eyes when his brother and Cas chatted briefly about how beautiful the northern states were. The call ended with forced cheerfulness on all sides over how quickly and assuredly a positive outcome would be secured.

It was not long after they hung up with Sam when Castiel approached Dean where he sat on the sofa, mindlessly flipping through stations without really taking in what was there. The angel seemed to hesitate, so Dean looked up at him with a raised brow.

“What’s up, Cas?” he asked, his eyes not lingering long on the other man’s face. Castiel took a slow, measured breath before speaking.

“May I use your bathroom?” he asked, and Dean turned back up to see a soft blush coloring the angel’s cheeks. “I’d like to... take a shower.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably.

“Hell yeah, Cas,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to ask. This is... you should just... you know, make yourself at home....”

“Thank you, Dean,”

Before Castiel could turn away, Dean spoke.

“Remembered how good the water pressure is, huh?” he asked, trying to lighten the odd tension. Castiel smiled weakly.

“I recall,” he admitted, his hands slipping back down into the pockets of his coat. “I just... as with eating, I never know when human sensation may return and I’m feeling... uncomfortably warm,”

“Well no wonder,” Dean replied, inwardly cursing himself for mentioning anything at all. The last thing he wanted was for Cas to be self-conscious of his failing grace and his returning human curses. “You got at least six layers of clothes on.” Dean pushed himself from the couch, holding his hand out to his friend. “C’mon. You give me the coat and the jacket, and leave the rest in the hallway hamper and I’ll take care of it.” before the angel could protest, Dean continued. “You got... shower things? Or do you need anything?”

“I think I’m adequately supplied,” Cas replied, the blush in his cheeks turning a deep pink. “But really Dean, you don’t have to-”

“Dude, I ain’t standing here all day,” Dean warned him with a grim expression, shaking his outstretched hand to spur Castiel into action. Reluctantly, Cas pulled off his tan overcoat and the dark navy jacket he wore underneath. “Good,” Dean replied. “Now, I’ll give ya a five minute head start and then the hamper better be full.”

Castiel turned without a word, and Dean watched him go with a heavy heart. For a moment he just stood there, his eyes sliding closed and he counted in his head to keep his brain from harassing him about why an angel of god would be in a mess like this. Trying to help Dean Winchester, that’s why.

The echo-y thud of the bunker’s shower room door pulled Dean from his thoughts and he walked down the hall toward the sound. Castiel’s clothes were setting neatly on the bottom on the previously empty wicker hamper, folded in a mini-pyramid of fabric. Dean shook his head, reaching down and grabbing the pile before moving across to the shower room door and knocking.

“Hey Cas,” he called through the thick steel. “You got things to change into, right? I’m gonna put these in the wash.”

“Um, yes Dean,” came the muffled reply. “I.. I do.”

“Alright,” Dean called back, continuing on to the laundry room. He read the label’s carefully, putting the boxers, t-shirt, and dress shirt in the same load together. The suit needed dry cleaning and the socks would need to go in with the next load of dark colors. The overcoat didn’t appear to be that bad off. Dean grabbed a couple hangers and hung the jacket neatly, wondering if there was a dry cleaner anywhere near the bunker - he supposed there should be in town. As he hung the coat, his eye was drawn to the shiny lining inside and a long rip that was mended with tiny stitches. Dean’s brow furrowed as he ran his fingers along the raised row of neatly knotted thread. Apparently Castiel chose not to waste his grace on such trivial matters as mending clothes... How much grace did he have left?

Dean hung the coat up, going through the pockets for any personal items he didn’t want to bring to the cleaners, and his stomach only ached worse at what he found: several receipts for nothing but coffee, an empty single dose packet of aspirin, a sheet of paper containing notes and coordinates, and a couple used tissues. He ignored the knot in his gut and tossed the items in the trash can, leaving the note paper of information folded on top of the washing machine. How bad exactly had Cas been these last several months? Why had he not asked Sam? Why hadn’t he picked up the god-damned phone and asked Cas himself? Or why hadn’t he asked him the last time Castiel had come to lend them a hand?

The shower was running when Dean came back through the hallway, and he turned into his room to grab some scotch from his bedside table. He needed a drink to numb just a bit of the guilt, to sooth just a bit of the pain, even though he didn’t deserve it. He at least waited until he had a glass before he started drinking it, and had finished two tumblers before he heard the creak of the shower room door. There was silence from the other end of the bunker, and Dean quickly filled his glass a third time before he had to look Cas in the face. He was just tipping the amber liquid down when the angel returned. Dean almost spit out what was in his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern at the green tinge to Dean’s face and the way he spluttered to breathe.

“Yeah,” Dean croaked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he looked away from Castiel. “It’s just...” the warm bite of scotch now felt sour on his tongue as he glanced back to Cas’s damned burgundy colored hoodie. It caused nothing but bad memories. “That... that looks... awful on you.”

Castiel looked down self-consciously, a hand smoothing down the front of the bulky cotton.

“I... I don’t have much,” he admitted quietly, and Dean’s self loathing pulled him deeper into regret. “And it now seems rather cool in here after my shower, and... I don’t have anything else warm... but, I guess I could layer...”

“I’ll get you something,” Dean said, rising to his feet and striding toward his room, leaving Castiel standing quietly beside the couch. Dean continued to berate himself, picking through his belongings until he found his most thick and soft flannel overshirt and pulled it from the hanger. He returned to the living room and held it out. Castiel stared at it a moment before reaching out to take it.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said, pulling off the hoodie. Dean took it from him, rolling it up into a tight ball as he watched Cas pull the flannel over his t-shirt. He licked his dry lips, his eyes traveling down the angel’s body.

“If you’re cold,” he said with a grimace, “why the hell are you walking around in bare feet? These concrete floors seem to leech all the cold from outside.”

Castiel looked confusedly down at his feet.

“You put my things in the laundry,” he replied, looking back up. “I can wait until they’re done.”

“Oh for chris’sake!” Dean exclaimed, rubbing a hand over his eyes and he turned back to his room. He threw the offending burgundy hoodie in the laundry hamper with as much contempt as he could before going into his room and pulling out one of the drawers of his dresser, grabbing a pair of thick, thermal socks. How the fuck could his best friend only own one pair of socks? He didn’t want to think about all the other things that Cas was going without. At least that was one deficiency Dean couldn’t blame on the Mark. He was a shitty friend before it, there wasn’t much farther to fall now that he had it. Maybe someday the mark would keep him from caring altogether, but today it made him ill.

“Are you angry with me?” Castiel asked, accepting the socks that Dean thrust upon him when he returned.

“No,” Dean snapped in reply, shaking his head as he returned to his seat, pouring out a double portion of alcohol. “No, I’m just... Just sit down, okay? Watch some TV or something.”

He heard the angel’s soft exhale of breath and immediately regretted ninety-eight percent of the decisions he’d made in the last two hours. Dean kept his eyes on the television as Cas came around the couch and settled on the other end, pulling the socks over his feet.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said again, but quietly, as if afraid to cause any more bouts of anger from the other man. Dean was quiet a moment before he grumbled a ‘you’re welcome’ around the rim of his glass.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean and Castiel sat in silence for the better part of three hours, watching a documentary on some sea creature that made Dean think that it had to be the first thing god invented after marijuana. He would glance over every now and then and watch Castiel who was squinting at the TV, causing little creases to form at the corner of his eyes, and when he would smile they would deepen. It would make Dean smile, and he would turn away before Cas caught him.

Dean liked to see Cas smile. He wasn’t sure why, but it caused a swelling feeling in his chest and an odd flutter in his belly. Cas happy. Cas looking happy.

Damnit, he knew why.

The neck of the scotch bottle clanked loudly against Dean’s glass as he poured, and Castiel looked over as the last inch of amber liquid swirled out of the bottle. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Cas’s frown of concern. Castiel took a deep breath.

“I’m going to make dinner. I think you need to eat something,” he announced, rising to his feet and leaning over to pick up the empty bottle where Dean sat it on the floor. “Do you have a preference?” he gave a small smiled before adding, “I promise that I know how to make more than hot dogs and nachos.”

Although he said it with levity, it made Dean’s stomach turn.

“Whatever’s fine,” he grumbled in reply. Castiel stared at him a moment before turning from the room.

Dean deflated into the sofa when he was alone, draining his glass and setting it on the cushion beside him. He picked up the remote, flipping through a half dozen stations before turning the power off and tossing it to the side as well. He could hear the sounds of meal preparations in the kitchen, the opening and closing of drawers, the methodic thud of a knife against a cutting board. Dean closed his eyes, imagining Castiel standing at the counter and chopping vegetables with careful precision as he prepared Dean’s supper.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s lips. It wasn’t so bad to have Cas taking care of him like this, in little ways, not sacrificing his own life. Just little gestures, like cutting his sandwich in half, like always asking how he slept, like that soft look in Cas’s eyes when he would see him. Why was Cas always taking care of him?  
  
...

Dean’s eyes slowly slid open and he stared across the room without really seeing. He’d always suspected - hell, sometimes he fantasized - that Cas’s feelings went a little deeper than your average, run-of-the-mill, best friend. That there was maybe something more to be had than friendship alone. Maybe... maybe he’d always known why.

Dean pushed himself to his feet and walked a slow circle around the coffee table as he thought. He wished he had heard the end of the conversation Cas had with Sam, to know for sure. But he’d always suspected, deep down... neither of them just seemed to have the courage to say. It made more sense that way, didn’t it? All of the looks? The soft touches? Didn’t that make perfect sense?

Dean’s hand slid over the top of the karaoke machine on his third pass, and he stopped and turned back to it. He was in the mood for music now. Calm, relaxing, yet powerful music. He liked music. That was one thing that the mark hadn’t destroyed yet. Maybe he could still like things... possibly even still... love things.

He wasn’t sure if it was the soothing music, the sounds of domesticity from across the hall, or the half bottle of scotch warming his belly, but Dean felt content for the moment, humming along with the melody as he swayed on his feet. He continued to pace the floor, his mind feeling like a vast ocean of thought with his last bit of hope buoying along the surface.

Sam was going to find Cain. There was a chance right? A chance to make things right with Sam?... right with Cas?

He wanted to make things right with Cas. He wanted to make up to him all of the pain he’d caused. He wanted to be the one doing the ‘taking care of’ for a change. He wanted Cas to have enough socks for every day of the month, and a coat without rips, and a dresser for his things and not a forth-hand duffel.

Dean was still swaying to the music when Castiel returned to the living room. The angel stopped short, a look of uncertainly on his face, as if he was unsure whether or not he should be witnessing Dean in this state. But Dean smiled at him, inviting him to speak. Castiel’s words were still hesitant in coming.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” he said. “I made... fajitas... The tortillas are... warming in the oven...”

“Sounds good,” Dean replied, giving a nod of his head. “Sounds real good.”

Cas continued to stare at the hunter, his eyes narrowing slightly as he spoke.

“Are you... what are you doing?” he asked. Dean grinned, giving a gentle thump to the top of the machine as the final lines of the song rolled onto the screen.

“Just listening to some music,” Dean replied. “Singing along a bit... that’s all.”

“...Singing?” Castiel asked, his head tilting to the side as his eyes moved between the LCD and Dean. Dean sang the last two lines of the song that was coming to a close, and Castiel watched him. Dean grinned wider, giving a wag of his eyebrows as the swelling piano intro of the next song started, and he started singing as the words rose with the tune.

“This one goes out to all the angels in the audience,” Dean said deeply, pointing around the room, his finger coming to a stop while directed at Cas. Cas’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Dean felt his liquid courage kicking in. He took a deep breath, before starting to sing. “Don’t go changin’.... to try and please me... you never let me down before... Mm-mmm-mm...” Dean began, his voice low and velvety smooth. He felt an intense pulse of gratification at the way Castiel’s breath seemed to hitch in his chest. Dean brought a hand up to lay over his heart, shaking his head for emphasis as he continued. “Don't imagine... you're too familiar...And I don't see you anymore. Ah-I would not leave you... in times of trouble...We never could have come this far. Mm-mm-mmm... I took the good times, I'll take the bad times... I'll take you just the way you are,”  
  
Dean licked his lips, walking slowly across the room to where his angel stood stone still, transfixed by his performance. Dean smiled, reaching out and flicking the collar of the flannel shirt.

“Don't go trying... some new fashion... Don't change the color of your hair, Mm-mmm-mm,” Their eyes met, and Dean voice softened just slightly as he sang, “You always have my... un-spoken passion. Although I might not seem to care,” he took a breath, shaking off the intimacy of the line as he continued. He forced another smile, an endearing, crooked smile. “I don't want clever.. conversation...I never want to work that hard...I just want some-one that I can talk to. I want you just the way you are.”

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, but Dean shook his head, ignoring the plea and the now unshed tears in his friends eyes. He continued to sing, his eyes locked on the angel’s, and he took Cas’s hand.

“I need to know that you will al-ways be... The same old someone that I knew. What will it take 'till you believe in me... The way that I believe in you...” Dean took another breath, the words of the next verse like salt on his tongue, and he couldn’t swallow, and he couldn’t sing. The words were like a lump in his throat. “I said... I... I...” Castiel’s eyes move from his to the screen of the karaoke machine where the words were printed in bold text.

I said I love you and that's forever  
And this I promise from my heart  
I couldn't love you any better  
I love you just the way you are.

Dean could see Castiel stop breathing.

“Cas,” he whispered, his hand reaching out and brushing along the angel’s jaw. “Cas I...” he took an uncertain step forward, his eyes tracking between Castiel’s beautiful, shining blue eyes and his parted lips. “Cas... you... you gotta know... you gotta know...”

Dean leaned in, his eyes fluttering to close. But Castiel pulled away, his hands coming up to gently take hold of Dean’s.

“Dean,” he said softly. “You’ve been drinking. Please... please just.. come eat.”

Dean blinked, and he stared open mouthed at the angel. He wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened, but nausea and embarrassment were coiling hot and thick in his stomach, and he pulled away from Castiel’s grip.

“Dean,” Cas said again, but Dean turned and stumbled toward his room. “Dean, please come back,”

Dean couldn’t turn back, not with tears spilling from his eyes and shame on his face. He retreated to the sanctity of his bedroom, slamming the door and locking it behind him. He leaned back against the heavy wood, he knees giving way and he collapsed to the floor.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought... How?

Dean pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his face against his arms like a child. His heart was hammering painfully, pounding against his ribs and causing blood to pulse loudly in his ears. And he hurt. He hurt bad.

God DAMNED alcohol. How he could he let himself be so... vulnerable? Dean’s instinct was to lash out at something, but instead he pulled himself in tighter. The look on Castiel’s face seemed burned on the back of his eyelids - was it regret? Was it pity? Whatever it was, it cleaved his heart in two. That tender, pained looked in those bluest-blue eyes cutting him deeper than any wound he’d suffered.

Dean stayed curled up against the wall for what felt like hours, the entirety of the bunker was silent on the other side of the thick, wooden door. He didn’t want to think about what Cas was doing right now. He couldn’t think of anything but the cold, vacant hole where his heart should be, and the now drying tears on his cheeks.

He couldn’t even feel the mark of Cain.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dean woke when the phone in his shirt pocket began to buzz. Groggily, and with a grunt of discomfort, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His side ached where he had lay against the concrete, and his joints were tender and sore. The phone buzzed again. Dean fumbled with the phone, rubbing his thumb across the screen to answer the call.

“Hello?” he mumbled, willing moisture into his dry mouth.

“Dean? Were you asleep?”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a hand across his forehead before hauling himself to his feet. His body protested the change in position, and his brain throbbed.

“Hey Sam,” he said. “Yeah, I was... what time is it?”

“It’s almost nine,” Sam replied. “I just wanted to check up on you, see how you were feeling.”

Dean paused for a moment, feeling his heart quicken just a bit.

“Why?” he asked. He could hear his brother’s soft laugh on the other end of the line.

“Because when I couldn’t get a hold of you last night, I called Cas and he said that you went to bed early, that you weren’t feeling well. Is his cooking that bad?”

Dean let out a heavy breath, setting on the side of his bed.

“No, I... I was just tired is all.” he had to force the next words from his mouth. “What else did you and Cas talk about? Any news on the Cain front?”

“Not yet,” Sam replied, and the ease of his response gave Dean a bit of relief. Maybe Castiel didn’t mention anything else. “I’ve got three different locations to look into today. There’s a hunter up here by the name of ‘Scout’. She’s going to help me with the recon.”

“Oh she is, is she?” Dean asked, stripping the sweaty flannel shirt from his body. “If you just needed some time away, you could have just said so.”

Sam laughed again, but there was a hint of unease it in.

“She’s, like, sixty-eight, Dean,” he replied. The answer brought just a ghost of a smile to the elder Winchester’s lips.

“I won’t judge.” he assured.

“Anyway,” Sam continued, ignoring the remark. “I hope you’re feeling better. I bought some things to make a good soup stock, but I also bought some canned soups because... well, because I know you. You only make soup from scratch for me. Drink plenty of water.”

“Goodbye, Sam,” Dean said, rising to his feet. “Be safe. When you’re in those mountains... watch out for cougars.” He could hear Sam scoff, and it actually made him grin.

As soon as the call ended, Dean felt the writhing discomfort of dread settle in his stomach. He took a painfully slow time gathering his clothes, completing his morning routine and dressing. At some point, he was going to have to face Castiel, and he wasn’t sure exactly what he would say. How does one recover from making a fool of himself in front of the best friend he’d ever had? Hadn’t they had been through worse and forgiven each other? Cas would forgive him, certainly. He’d just have to add it to the list of things he couldn’t forgive himself for.

Dean sat on the side of his bed for a moment, staring at his hands and trying to think of what he was going to say, wondering if he should laugh it off, blame it on the booze, or just ignore it altogether. He’d have to take Cas’s lead. He owed him that much. Thankfully, the angel was never one to over analyze feelings.

Regardless of how Castiel reacted, Dean could no longer deny the feelings he so easily admitted under the liberation of alcohol. His feelings for Cas were not just friendly, what he wanted from Cas was not just friendship. And now he had to live with the painful, lingering wonder that maybe Cas would have reacted differently if Dean had spoken up two or three years ago. That maybe he could have had that one-in-a-million-for-a-Winchester shot at happiness, but he let his stubborn pride, American machismo, antiquated social convention, and fear of his dead father’s disapproval keep him from what might make this life worth living again.

The bunker felt unusually cold when Dean opened his bedroom door and stepped into the hall. Cold and silent. His boots echoed as he walked, each stepped sounding loud in his ears. He glanced to the living room as he passed. It looked tidy. Tidier than normal. The glasses were gone and the books put away, the karaoke machine turned off and the cds stacked neatly.

Dean pressed his fist against his stomach to quell the ache as he moved into the kitchen. Castiel was sitting at the table reading a newspaper, a half cup of coffee sitting to his right. He was dressed back in his navy suit pants and crisp white shirt. He must have ironed it, because it lay smooth across his shoulders and chest. Dean looked away when Cas looked up. There was only a slight paused as the angel drew breath to speak.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas said, folding the paper and rising from his seat.

“Morning,” Dean replied, not moving from the doorway as he watched Cas find a glass and fill it with water. He retrieved a bottle of aspirin next, setting the glass on the table so he could scrutinize the label. Dean sighed. “Just give me six,” he said, moving to collapse in a chair.

“The bottle says two,” Castiel replied, opening the cap and shaking two white pills into his hand. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Two is for normal people.” he said. “Six is for guys used to sewing up their own wounds.”

Castiel replaced the lid, placing the two pills into Dean’s outstretched palm.

“Six is for people who dislike their own liver,” he replied. “You can have two.”

Dean sighed, popping the pills into his mouth and chasing them with a gulp of water. He watched Cas closely as the angel moved to the refrigerator and pulled out the eggs and a package of sausage.

“I googled hangover breakfast foods,” Cas spoke as he sat the food on the counter and pulled two pans from the rack. He neatly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he continued. “The main theme appeared to be grease, which doesn’t sound like it would particularly cure anything - cause a few things - but not cure them. But, ‘dudes-go-to.com’ assures me that this will make you feel better.”

“Cas,” Dean said weakly, hanging his head. “You don’t have to do this...”

“I promised Sam I would feed you,” Castiel replied. He gave a small smile to Dean before setting to work on the meal. “He said if you were still alive when he came back, he’d buy me a guinea pig.”

Dean couldn’t help the huff of laughter that rose up from his belly.

“I’m the test subject to decide if you can handle the responsibility?” Dean asked with a shake of his head. Castiel shrugged.

“Sam said that you exist primarily on alcohol and artificial flavoring, so it seems like a fair standard.”

Dean nodded in agreement, even though Cas’s back was to him. His heart felt like a lead weight as he watched the angel cook, carefully turning sausages and making sure the yolks didn’t break in the fried eggs. He didn’t turn to face Dean until a plate was made, and he sat it down on the table in front of the hunter.  
  
Dean tried to swallow, and he looked up at his friend.

“Cas,” he began, his voice sounding too soft and broken. “We need to talk,”

Castiel shook his head.

“You need to eat,” he replied, resolutely. He paused a moment before gently amending. “It can wait.”

Reluctantly, Dean picked up his fork and a triangle of toast and began to eat. It wasn’t until the first taste of butter and carbs hit his palette that he realized how hungry he was, and he finished off the plate much quicker than he expected. A satisfyingly full belly quickly turned to a mound of discomfort as he looked back up at his friend. Dean cleared his throat, trying to sound stern.

“Look Cas,” he began, having to avert his eyes as the angel tilted his head in response. “I, um, last night... last night, I was pretty drunk,” he forced a laugh, looking up to gauge how his words were being received. Castiel was nodding in agreement, his eyes narrowed. Dean cleared his throat again. “We don’t really gotta rehash all that, but, uh... I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything... I mean, I didn’t, um,” he shifted in his seat, his eyes intent on watching his hand roll the butter knife between his fingers. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he finally said, sighing. He dropped the knife, holding out his hands in a helpless gesture as he looked up at Castiel. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Castiel was staring back at him, and Dean had looked up in time to see the angel’s shoulders dip slightly. Castiel’s expression softened.

“There is nothing to forgive Dean,” he said simply, his gaze dropping to where his hands were folded on the table. “I understand that you were under the influence of quite a bit of alcohol, and I-” Castiel stopped speaking abruptly, and he took a deep breath and sighed before giving Dean a smile. “The fajitas weren’t good anyway,” he said, rising from his chair and taking Dean’s dishes. Dean watched the angel in silence. It wasn’t impossible to see that the smile he so easily gave didn’t quite meet up in his eyes.

“Look Cas,” Dean said, standing. “If you’re mad, you just gotta tell me. I can take it.” his chest was a little tight as he spoke, but he felt compelled. “There’s a lot of water under the bridge between you and I, and I hate to think,” Cas turned to look at him, and Dean faltered. “You know what, never mind.”

“Now you are angry with me,” Castiel observed, his arms dropping to his sides, his hands flexing as if he missed the protection of his coat. Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“No.” he sighed, “No, I’m not... wait,” he pointed to Cas, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean ‘now you are angry with me’? So you are angry with me.”

Castiel raised a hand to his forehead.  
  
“No Dean,” he insisted. “I’m not, I... ”

“Aren’t you?” Dean asked. His head was still throbbing and he had to squint to keep his eyes on Castiel’s. Heat began to creep up the back of his neck at the very idea of Cas being ... turned off by Dean’s behavior. He tried to remain calm and keep the agitation from his tone. There was no way he going going to try and badger the man that just made his breakfast. “Look, I get that I - I made a fool out of myself. So again, I’m sorry if that upset you or... or made you uncomfortable. You don’t have to worry about it happening again. I will keep the scotch closed and the karaoke totally off, I guaran-tee. I mean,” he laughed, trying to make light of his discomfort. “I knew my singing was bad, but I have never been shot down so quickly with one song. But you, uh, you let me down easy Cas.” he forced a grin, “I appreciate it.”

Castiel looked at Dean a moment, his eyes staring straight into the hunter’s. After a tense moment, his gaze fell to the floor and his eyes slid closed. He looked tired, and Dean wondered if he had slept last night, if he needed to sleep.

“Dean,” he spoke, his eyes still closed and his face down-turned. “... are you still my friend?”

Dean wasn’t expecting the question, and he found his breath catch in his chest.

“Geeze, Cas,” he said, placing his hands on his hips to keep them from pressing against the knot forming in his gut. “Don’t ask me that. You know we are.”

Castiel nodded, turning away and moving back to the table to sit. Dean watched him, waiting until the angel spoke.

“Nothing,” Castiel began quietly, his eyes focused on his hands folded on the tabletop. “is more important to me than your friendship. And last night, I saw my friend, intoxicated and vulnerable, however jovial it appeared. And... and I couldn’t...” he closed his eyes for a moment, and when he took a breath, Dean realized he was holding his. “I couldn’t let you do something you’d regret.” Castiel turned to Dean, a small, pained smile on his lips. “I’ve learned that it hurts when you think you can trust someone, and they take advantage of you.”

Dean frowned.

“What do you mean?” he asked. Cas shrugged slightly, his hand moving to slowly rub the back of his neck.

“I thought April was interested in comforting me, but she was just using me, taking advantage of my... unfortunate situation.”

“Do you think I was trying to take advantage of you?” Dean asked, stunned. Castiel’s head snapped up to look at Dean, his expression startled.

“No,” he exclaimed, but his tone softened as he continued. “I... didn’t want you to... to think...”

Dean felt his mouth go dry and the heat on his neck rose up into his face. He brought a hand to his mouth, and he couldn’t take his eyes from the pained look on Cas’s face.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said softly. “I... I never wanted to upset you or make you uncomfortable...”

Dean stared at the angel sitting quietly, his head down-turned. Dean’s heart was trying to convince him that what he’d just heard was a confession, but his brain was resolutely in denial. But, Castiel had just admitted feeling the same... right?

It took Dean a minute to get his nerve to speak.

“What do you mean, Cas?”

Castiel took a deep breath, rising to his feet and turning to face Dean. His blue eyes were narrowed, but he faced Dean resolutely. They stared at each other a moment, before Dean asked once again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tight. “What could you have done that you thought would make uncomfortable? Make me think you would be taking advantage of me?”

Castiel looked conflicted, his lips pressing together as if afraid of what he might answer. Dean’s heart hammered in his chest as his eyes looked deeply into the angel’s. Castiel sighed.

“I don’t want to lose your friendship, Dean.” he said, nothing but abject pain in his eyes. “It has been the... the single most significant... blessing I have ever experienced.”

Dean reached out to take hold of his friends shoulders, but he stopped and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Cas... Cas, I would never ask you to do something you were against or... or objected to...” he said. He brought his hand to rest over his heart in a gesture of honesty. “Not on my life.”

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, and Dean waited with baited breath for him to react. After a small eternity, the angel’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head. When he opened his eyes and turned back to Dean, his expression was defeated.

“It is just-...” he stopped himself, clearing his throat softly. “... you have to know, Dean...”

Dean felt his heart stop beating, the words echoing in his ears.

He did know. He’d known for years. He’d known that this was something that he’d had a harder and harder time trying to explain away. He’d known that there was fair few things that he cared about in this world other than his brother. And he’d known that he never looked at a man and wondered “maybe” before Castiel walked into that rundown barn and into his life.

Dean exhaled an exasperated huff of laughter and he shook his head.

“Oh Cas,” he sighed. “You damned stupid sonofabitch.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, his eyes now wide with concern as Dean moved closer. Dean continued to speak, his voice deep and quiet.

“Do you know what’s wrong with playing chicken?” he asked. Castiel shook his head watching Dean intently. Dean sighed. “Nobody wins unless their willing to take the hit. But I’m gonna go out on a limb here today and say that, in the last twenty four hours, both of us swerved a little too late.”

Castiel looked back at him, his expression blank.

“What.... what are you saying?” he asked, and the spark of hope in his eyes sent a thrill of excitement rushing through Dean’s body.

But they just stood there, staring at each other, separated by only several inches of linoleum and too many years of unspoken feelings. Dean lowered his eyes, finding it easy to close the distance when he wasn’t looking into the other man’s face. He brought his hands to Cas’s arms, feeling the strength of tense muscle beneath the thin, starched cotton. The angel whisper his name, and Dean closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s. He was still for just a beat before raising his arms and embracing Cas, dropping his still aching head to Cas’s shoulder.

Dean was surprised by the amount of weight that lifted from his mind when he felt Cas’s arms enclose him as well, and he sighed heavily in relief. It was another surprise how natural it felt... him and Cas. Or maybe this was an alcohol induced fantasy, and that he was still asleep on the cement floor of his room. And that’s fine. This was fine. At least if he could have this for just a few minutes... he would enjoy it.

Cas shifted and Dean felt a warm hand settle on the back of his head and gently stroke down his neck, smoothing his hair and taking away the last vestige of tension and ache of hangover.

“Don’t do that,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s shoulder.

“Do what?” Cas asked quietly, and he dropped his hand. Dean lifted his head, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Don’t...” he began, softly. “Don’t waste your grace.”

Castiel’s eyebrows drew together, his head tilting slightly. He regarded Dean a moment before speaking.

“Comforting you is the antithesis of waste,”

Dean’s expression softened, a swell of affection for the angel just slightly overwhelming him. He brought a hand to Cas’s cheek, his thumb tracing the angle of his cheekbone. He laughed then, looking away. He heard Castiel’s soft laugh follow.

“You don’t have to... do anything, Dean,” he spoke. “I’m... patient.”

“Patience, huh?” Dean murmured, his eyes resting on the hollow of Cas’s throat and the line of his collar bone just visible where the button of his shirt was undone. He never noticed that Cas smelled so good. It was a little overwhelming, so the thought of taking their time to get comfortable with the idea of ‘this’ seemed wise. “Like, take things slow?”

Castiel nodded.

“I want you to be happy, Dean,”

“Yeah, I know.” he looked up into Cas’s eyes, smiling with gratitude over his friend’s understanding. It wasn’t supposed to be easy making this leap to where ever it is they were going. Cas was a good guy. An understanding guy. He wanted Dean to be happy. He really liked the idea of that.

Dean felt just slightly awkward, standing in the kitchen with one arm around Castiel’s shoulders and the angel’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist. There was a level of intimacy in the ease of it that Dean hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. And to think, all it took to take away the uncertainty was to just say something. To just let Cas know that ‘hey, I feel the same way’. Maybe if he had done that years ago some of their troubles would have been a little easier to bear - hell, some of those troubles could have been avoided altogether.

Cas was looking at him with a soft, however slightly concerned expression. Dean gave a nervous laugh, and the angel smiled before tightening his embrace. The action caused Dean’s hips to press flush against Castiel’s. Dean exhaled slowly.

“You’re uncomfortable,” Castiel stated, as if it were observable fact, and he loosened his hold on the hunter.

“No,” Dean insisted, putting his other arm back around the angel’s neck. “No, not uncomfortable. Just... adjusting. I mean,” he gave a small chuckle. “It’s not everyday a guy gets drunks, spills the beans about his...long... repressed... I dunno, ‘thoughts’ about his best fried.” Castiel’s smile returned, but he looked away from Dean’s gaze. Dean was quiet a moment before speaking again. “I shouldn’t have told you like that.” he admitted, frowning. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted, looking back up into his friend’s face. The look he gave silenced him. “It was beautiful. Your voice is beautiful...” Dean blushed and Castiel smiled. “I’m just glad you told me.”

Dean felt his stomach clench, and he got that same fluttering feeling in his gut that he got whenever Castiel gave him that tender, adoring look. The look Dean now knew for certain was tending and adoring, and not his imagination. And he liked it. He liked knowing now that the look was for him, and all the meaning it held.

Dean hugged the angel to him, tight and hard at first, as if the one embrace could convey what he couldn’t yet express in words - not sober, anyway. Castiel hugged back, and Dean was not disappointed in the amount of affection he felt from the other man. Apparently, Cas had a lot of unspoken feelings as well.

Slowly, with reluctance, Dean loosened his grip on the angel. He could hear Cas sigh, and he relaxed in Dean’s arms, his cheek brushing the hunter’s jaw. Dean noted that the intensity of the hug only increased when they released their hold on each other, and now that his body wasn’t pressed to Castiel’s, it was easier to feel the contours of his frame. Every breath the angel took, every slight shift of his hips, every soft stroke of his thumb against Dean’s back. Dean closed his eyes, turning his head just slightly and the corner of his lips brushed Castiel’s.  
  
‘Slowly, Dean,’ he said to himself. ‘This is... this is crazy...’

When Cas turned his head, Dean moved with him without question. Their mouths met tentatively at first, and Dean was surprised at the softness of Cas’s lips. He moaned against the angel’s mouth when Cas’s fingers slid up through the back of his hair. Dean responded in kind, delving a hand into Castiel’s dark, wavy hair while his other hand dropped to the dip of Cas’s lower back. Dean caressed the angel through the smooth cotton of his dress shirt, his fingers gliding over the warm, firm muscle of his back. Cas shivered, and Dean pulled him closer.

“Dean,” Castiel gasped when then broke apart, his hand’s framing Dean’s face as he pulled the hunter back, as if trying to test all the ways he could now kiss this beautiful human. Dean groaned in response, the husky way the angel breathed his name sounding like reverent prayer. Dean submitted without hesitance, meeting each of Castiel’s eager kisses with equal enthusiasm, chasing after each sweet press of lips.

Dean’s heart was hammering in his chest as the slow, experimental brush of their lips became deliberate, hard, hungry. It was as if Cas was oxygen, and Dean’s lungs were just learning how to expand. He pulled the angel against him, his fingers digging into the muscles of Castiel’s back and ignoring the tears swelling against his lashes. He needed this. He needed this angel, this being, this man - and he wasn’t going to deny it any more. He wasn’t going to deny Cas. He wasn’t going to deny himself.

They’d waited long enough.

  
~~~~~~~~~~

“Hold up; I need a minute,” Dean said, exhaling heavily as he lay back on the bed, tucking an arm beneath his head. He took a deep breath, pressing his free hand to his racing heart. “Well...So much for taking things slow.”

Cas gave a soft laugh, glancing over at Dean before turning his eyes back to the ceiling. He considered Dean’s words a moment before commenting.

“We did wait six years,” he said, looking back over to the man at his side. “I think we’ve shown quite a bit of restraint.”

Dean turned to Cas, an amused expression on his face. Castiel was looking back wearing a soft, almost shy, smile and his dark hair was handsomely disheveled. Dean felt heat rise to the surface of his skin, and inwardly teased himself over blushing from Cas’s smile when he’d just spent the last twenty minutes practically dry humping the angel into the memory foam.

What a damn fine memory.

“Dean?”

Dean blinked, focusing back on the blue eyes that were now narrowed at him. Castiel spoke, suspicion in his tone.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Dean took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his hair.

“Thinking we need to visit a drug store someday soon,” he murmured. Castiel tilted his head in question, but Dean dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “Just thinking... that this is pretty wild, you know? You... me... I mean... it’s weird.”

“Weird?” Castiel repeated, his brow furrowing. “Are you disappointed?... Regretful?”

“No,” Dean answered automatically. He shifted on the bed, running his hands down his thighs and tugging on the fabric of his jeans to relieve some of the tension in his groin. They were both quiet a moment, and Dean could feel Castiel watching him. “Not at all, Cas,” his voice was deep and quiet when he spoke, and he nudged the angel with his elbow. “I’m just... it’s a little getting used to. I mean... you’re my best friend. You’re an angel... I’m just a guy... and... you’re a guy...”

Castiel rolled onto his side, leaning up on his elbow to look down over the hunter.

“I’m sorry I didn’t choose a more pleasing vessel,” he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow, incredulity plain on his face.

“It’s a little obvious that I definitely don’t agree,” he said dryly, making a vague motion below his waist. “I mean, we really outta pump the breaks on this or, uh,... or we’re in trouble,” Castiel blushed and gave a small nod of understanding. Dean closed his eyes, bringing a hand up to his mouth. “I don’t even want to know where you learned to kiss like that.” he said with a sigh. Thankfully, Cas didn’t respond, remaining silent to encourage the hunter’s stream of thought. Dean squeezed his eyes shut harder, gathering his nerve, and they lay in silence for a long stretch of time. Castiel softly ran his fingertips across Dean’s forearm as he waited.

“There’s actually so much I wanted to say to you,” Dean began quietly, concentrating on Castiel’s fingers as they traveled a gentle path over his skin. Castiel’s response was equally quiet, and it filled Dean’s heart with its promise.

“We have time,”

The angel pressed a kiss to Dean’s bare shoulder, and Dean wondered for a moment if Cas remembered he once marked him there long ago. It made the hunter realize that was a mark worth having, one that brought life and safety and hope. That was the mark he should have given in to. But Castiel was always there, waiting patiently for Dean to turn to him.

“I’ve done you so wrong in the past, Cas,” Dean said wearily, his body relaxing into the mattress in defeat. “There’s so many things I... I should have done differently.”

“You don’t think I have those same thoughts about my own actions?” Castiel asked quietly. Dean opened his eyes, looking up at Cas. “You think I don’t have regrets about how I failed you? How much I hurt you?”

“That’s in the past,” Dean grumbled, shaking his head and looking away. Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s cheek, turning his face back so he could look into his eyes.

“Why is it so easy for you to forgive others and not yourself?” he asked gently. Dean unconsciously leaned in to the heat of the angel’s palm. The attention brought a warmth to Dean’s skin, and he was sure he must be blushing. “Why is it so easy for you to show compassion and acceptance to others, but not to yourself? You have always been a righteous and worthy man, Dean,” Castiel told him with quiet conviction. “I have seen your soul. I have held it in my hands.” Dean was in awe of the look in the angel’s eyes as he replayed the memory in his mind. “Your soul shines so brightly, and you are the only one who can’t see that.” Cas’s expression grew slightly pained, and he gently brushed his fingertips over the younger man’s cheek. “I’ve always wanted to tell you that. You’re so strong for everyone and take care of everyone... I’ve always wanted to be the one that you’d let be there for you,”

There was an awkward pause before Castiel continued.

“Not... not that I’m presuming anything,” he added.

Dean reached up to hook his hand behind Castiel’s neck and pulled him down for a deep, lingering kiss. Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean’s back as the hunter rolled onto his side, and pulled the angel against him. Dean couldn’t imagine going back to how they were before, now that this was finally realized, but he honestly wasn’t sure he could say what this was. Except it was right. Except it was just... it.

Dean pulled away first, exhaling his frustration in a huff as he lay back on the bed. Castiel’s eyes narrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, running a finger over the crease in Dean’s brow until the tension released. He could tell by the flush of color in Dean’s face and across his chest that it was something that the hunter would rather not say. Castiel watched him quietly a moment, waiting for Dean to speak when he was ready. Unfortunately, the longer the silence stretched, the more Castiel was concerned by what the answer would be. Just before he could open his mouth to ask again, Dean spoke.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he said, reaching out and giving a friendly thump to Cas’s leg. His hand lingered there, not pulling away, and the angel scooted closer to his side. Dean sighed and cleared his throat. “You presume away, Cas,” he said, watching his hand as it slowly caressed Castiel’s thigh. “God help us both, but if you want the job of... of lookin’ after me... of trying to make some sense of my mess... Well, it’s yours, buddy.” Castiel’s smile made Dean laugh, and the hunter shook his head in amusement. “But why you - why anyone - but why you specifically would want to keep this broken mess of a man together, I’ll never understand. I think I’ve done more rights than wrongs, but who knows? I’m pretty sure I got more faults than virtues though, that’s for sure.”

Castiel smiled brighter, and he leaned over Dean to press a simple, chaste kiss on his lips.

“Because Dean,” he said simply. “Rights and wrongs, faults and virtues...” he shook his head, his blue eyes radiant with devotion. “I love you... Just the way you are.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was late on Thursday when Sam finally rolled into Lebanon, ending his eight day road trip to find Cain. He was tired and hungry, having forgone his last planned stop for food, opting instead to arrive home as soon as he could. Aside from wanting a decent meal and a full night’s sleep, he was looking forward to seeing if the bunker was still in one piece.

Even though asking Cas to keep Dean company was Sam’s idea, he had his doubts that the two would get along a whole week alone in the bunker, especially if Dean lost any more of his verbal filter as his temper grew shorter. Sam’s first call from the road nearly caused him to turn the car around and head back. Castiel had insisted that Dean went to bed early due to not feeling well, but there was something in his tone that seemed to say that there was more to the story. No matter how much Sam pressed, Cas assured him that there was nothing else to report. The way his brother sounded when he called the next morning seemed to confirm Castiel’s account, but Sam had begun to rethink his solo hunt.

The call he made after lunch that first day in Montana put his mind at ease. Both Dean and Cas seemed in good spirits, and they chatted briefly since his brother and Cas were just stepping out to run some errands. The subsequent calls help to encourage him in his quest even more - Dean seemed incredibly positive about Sam’s mission, hopeful even, and wished his little brother a safe return.

After meeting Cain, however, after hearing what he had to say... Sam wasn’t so sure he had enough of a positive outlook for himself, let alone sharing one with Dean. Cain told him the one thing he was most afraid of, that there was no cure for the mark. In the hundreds of years that Cain had lived, he’d never even heard rumor of one. But there was a way to live with it, to control it. Perhaps, if Dean could control it long enough, they may find a cure.

Sam had deep faith in Dean’s determination, but he knew even his hero big brother was just a man. These last couple weeks put that determination to the test, and Sam worried that Dean was losing his will to fight. They were both tired, but they had to keep fighting. According to Cain, the only thing that helped him survive, to press on and withstand the rage of the mark, was the honest, accepting, and undying love of his wife, Colette. To know that this one person knew all of his faults, knew all that was in his heart, forgave his mistakes, and loved him unconditionally.

Sam’s last two calls home were kept short on purpose. Breaking the news to his brother about what he found out about the mark, that was something he wanted to do in person. Especially when Dean sounded so up-beat on their last calls. Sam wanted to give him a few more hours of hope. It wasn’t that he thought Dean was incapable of finding that sort of love, he just wasn’t sure if Dean was capable of accepting it.

The clock in the Continental flipped to 10:42 p.m. when Sam pulled to a stop in front of the bunker. He killed the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition before unfolding his tall frame from the car. He stretched his arms above his head as he walked to the trunk, taking his time to gather his things. It was possible Dean was already asleep, and Sam could put off the bad news until tomorrow, until he could think of a way to put a positive spin on it. He loved his brother. The last thing he wanted to do was take away his hope. The last think he wanted was to see him in pain. But he wasn’t sure his love alone could save Dean.

The light above the entrance was on, but the entry way was dark and cool, and the rest of the bunker seemed deserted. A soft flickering glow was emanating from the living room, and the pattern of the light told Sam that the TV was on. He took the spiral staircase down and he passed through the open study area to where they normally gathered for relaxing in front of the television. His feet were barely over the threshold when he came to a sudden stop.

The TV was on, showing some nature program, but the sound was so far down it was barely a hum in the room. Castiel was setting on the end of the sofa, clad in what appeared to be a long sleeved T-shirt and cotton sleep pants, his white-socked feet crossed at the ankles. The rest of the sofa was occupied with Dean’s reclining form. He was draped in a red and white patchwork quilt, and appeared to be dressed similarly for bed. Instead of watching the program with Cas, however, Dean was facing the back of the sofa and curled comfortably in sleep. His head was pillowed on Castiel’s lap, his face pressed against the angel’s belly. His arm was curled around Castiel’s back, and Cas was gently stroking Dean’s hair.

Sam felt an odd, intense pressure bubbling up in his chest.

“Oh, thank god!” he breathed, his weary body releasing the pent up tension in his limbs. Castiel looked up, surprise on his face. Before he spoke, he placed a hand gently over Dean’s exposed ear.

“You’re early,” Cas whispered. Sam nodded, not wanting to wake Dean either. He smiled at Castiel, running a hand wearily through his hair.

“Yeah. But it’s okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.” his smile grew wider when Dean stirred, curling closer to the man holding him so tenderly. “We don’t need to discuss it now. Because everything is going to be alright.”

~~~~~~~~~~

~the end... and the beginning.


End file.
